


with an edge to his appetite

by manbunjon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Sexual Tension, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: "Her husband kneeled at her feet, the great Lord Snow now bowed before his woman, and Sansa might have smiled had she not been so overcome with rapture at the sight. He removed her slippers one by one and set them down beside her chair, his strong fingers brushing across her skin with unexpected frivolity, first crossing over her toes to the bone of her ankle before rising slowly up her leg.She felt as though she were a girl again, with her father undoing the laces of her shoes when she had been too little to do so herself, but the rhapsodic heat that passed between she and Jon was something far removed from the memories of her father."





	with an edge to his appetite

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from _As the Sun Slides Down behind the Mountain_ by Xu Yunuo (徐玉諾)

"Sansa." Jon Snow whispered. "Lift your skirts for me." 

He said the words with a resolute ease that she did not feel, her belly trembling with nervousness and exhilaration as she did as she was told, lifting the hem of her gown until all that remained between them was a thin, cotton shift. 

Sansa blushed as deep a red as her bound hair as she watched his eyes move languidly over her, practically able to feel the heat of his gaze as his rough hands skimmed gently down the length of her prone body. 

He had been gripping her waist, pulling her tantalisingly closer so that he could lay a series of knee-wobbling kisses upon her proffered lips, but now Jon let them fall lower, following every curve and plain of her body from her hips to her feet, where his nimble fingers began to undo the small clasps at the sides of her silken slippers. 

Her husband kneeled at her feet, the great Lord Snow now bowed before his woman, and Sansa might have smiled had she not been so overcome with rapture at the sight. He removed her slippers one by one and set them down beside her chair, his strong fingers brushing across her skin with unexpected frivolity, first crossing over her toes to the bone of her ankle before rising slowly up her leg.

She felt as though she were a girl again, with her father undoing the laces of her shoes when she had been too little to do so herself, but the rhapsodic heat that passed between she and Jon was something far removed from the memories of her father.

His fingers traced the muscle of her calf, light as a lover’s kiss, and moved to the back of her knee, where his fingertips brushed lightly across the small scar she had borne all those years ago at Winterfell. 

His gaze was hot and unflinching, bolder now than she might ever be, and he did not tear his eyes from hers for longer than the moments it took for him to appreciate the singular beauty of her body.

His hands curled around her thighs, so slow and deliberate in his touch that she shivered, the hair on the back of her neck nearly raising to stand on end at the temptation of it all. She could feel his fingers fluttering around the clasps of her stockings as he had done so many times before, rolling the thin fabric down her legs, so languid and slow that Sansa thought that she might die an old maid before he had finished. 

He pulled her stockings off one by one, unfurling her like a parcel he was taking great care not to damage, and made careful work of setting them down on the footstool beside their featherbed and smoothing them out with feigned meticulousness. 

The fire crackled in the grate, heat sifting through the room as though summer had finally come, but the shiver that ran through her had little to do with the warmth of the fire and more to do with the way he whispered her name against her neck. 

A smug smile played at his lips as he saw her lips purse in frustration.

Sansa could feel her belly quivering and saw her traitorous cheeks growing deeper red, but she knew that her Lord husband could not outlast her, not in this longanimous game they had started. Sooner or later Jon would capitulate and she would be the patient victor who had bested his game. And after, when they made love, and his hands were upon her, knowing just where to touch to make her howl like the wolves they were, she would have her victory then. 

She made to help with her stays but Jon stilled her hands, for if she undressed herself his torturous game would too soon be completed. 

Instead his hands returned to their place at her waist, his fingertips lazily following the stiff ridges and peaks of her whalebone corset. He rose from his place at her feet, his gaze nearly predatory as he circled her before returning to his work at the laces of her bodice,

He took a seat behind her on the bed and leaned forward, acting as though he were taking interest in the many hasps at the back of her bodice. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck and was brought back to the many nights she had spent hunched over her writing desk with Jon dictating over her shoulder, his whispered voice lowering into that deep, grating voice of his that made heat bloom between her legs. 

She could feel her bodice part, the fabric loosening and giving way beneath his hands just as she too desired. With the laces of her corset pulled apart Sansa would normally have found it easier to breathe. But with Jon so close, with the feel of his hands roaming along her body and the whisper of his warm breath upon her back, it suddenly seemed harder than ever to breathe. 

Sansa let her eyes fall closed as his lips ghosted across the nape of her neck and she breathed out a soft moan, illiciting a smug smile from her husband. His fingers weaved through the plaits of her hair, letting the small pearl pins he recognised as one of his many gifs fall absently onto the bed. 

It was not the first time he had braided or unbraided her hair, but each time she found the experience as pleasant a surprise as the one before. His hands, hardened by war and so many years wielding a sword, were always gentle with her, sweeping through her hair as light as a handmaid's might be. 

"Lovely." Jon commented absently. 

He wondered if she could feel his cock against her, not quite hard but certainly stirring, a traitor to the nonchalance he tried to school his face into.

Sansa felt her hair fall loosely about her shoulders as he removed the final pins and Jon leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the back of her head, allowing himself one moment of weakness to nose at her hair. She could smell the geranium and sandalwood that had been threaded through her hair, as fresh and sweet as it was upon his pillow each morning.

She let her head fall back against his shoulder, his lips moving from her hair to the gentle altar of her neck where his lips often found themselves praying. The soft exhale he blew against her neck made her moan softly and they could both feel that the sound ran straight to his cock. 

He pulled her gown over her head, leaving nothing standing between them but her shift, the way his eyes traveled over her proving that he could see straight through the thin fabric as though it were a pane of polished glass. 

"What of you?" Sansa breathed, hoping her voice did not betray her desperation. "Still so thoroughly dressed."

"That can be remedied." Jon said. He watched her closely for signs of forfeit, his eyes dark with barely leashed hunger as they raked over her, slow and deliberate. "If it pleases you, my queen." 

"If it pleases me?" she repeated, mulling over the words in her mouth like fine ale before giving a nod. "It would please me." 

Sansa had half expected him to fling off his clothes quick as a racing hare, but no— her lord was too practiced for that. 

He undressed himself with the same languor as he had done with her, his fingers deliberately slow as he worked at the laces of his tunic and pulled it over his head tobare the chest she had come to love so. 

"May I assist, my king?" she asked, looking up at him through dark lashes and gesturing to the trousers he had yet to remove. She brushed her fingers across the ridges of muscle on his belly and was glad to feel him tremble beneath her touch, a small victory that would surely pave the way to one larger. 

She could see the outline of his hardened cock pressing at the criss-cross of laces and when he gave a resolute nod, Sansa allowed her fingers to fall to the waist of his breeches. 

Her thin fingers were cold as they brushed purposefully across his lower belly, feeling her husband so thoroughly restraining himself that he was nearly shaking, the hands that had hung loosely at his sides now clenched into fists. She smiled in smug satisfaction, lifting her eyes to meet his and biting her bottom lip. Jon groaned at the sight, dropping his hand to brush aside a few strands of errant hair from her eyes and allowed she press her soft cheek into his scarred palm. 

Sansa turned her head to lay a kiss against the slope of his palm and Jon stifled a gasp. He could feel her wanton tongue brush across the lattice of scars, leaving behind a strand of warmth and wetness that made his cock jump. He shifted against his breeches, desperate for some kind of relief. 

Jon's thumb brushed across her bottom lip as she looked up at him, the ache within him only growing as his finger slipped passed her lips to penetrate the depths of her warm mouth. 

He moaned, a man dancing so near the edge that a single misstep would send him reeling over. Sansa's lips parted, her mouth hot and brazen as his fingers slipped within, and though her eyes widened slightly at the obvious surprise, she did not balk. 

Jon could feel the way her cheeks puckered as she took a long drag of breath through her nose. Her tongue swirled down the length of his fingers as though she had already taken him into her mouth, and he could feel a redolent heat slide through his body at both the sight and the feel of her. 

His hips rocked forward, desperate to relieve just a bit of the tension that built within him, and neither of them missed the way her eyes flicked to his cock. 

"Are you unwell, my king?" Sansa asked, feigning innocence. "Tonight you seem so very... _stiff_." 

Despite himself, Jon smiled, knowing that theirs was a game she could play very well indeed. 

"I am very sore, my queen." he replied, seeing an endearing flush of pink fill her cheeks. "Too long in the saddle. Perhaps my lady would be so kind as to help relieve a bit of the tension."

A smiled quirked the corners of her mouth. "I think it would _please_ my king to do so." She replied, hardly missing a beat. The way the words rolled off her tongue at the same moment she reached out to palm at his cock nearly made his eyes roll back and his hips jutted toward her, seeking freedom and relief.

"Sansa." he groaned, collapsing on his back beside her. 

He continued the task she had started, quickly pulling his laces free and letting his breeches pool at his ankles before they were pulled off, by his hand or hers he could barely follow. He palmed at himself in the semi-darkness, desperate for relief, lest he go mad as King Aerys. 

"My lady." Sansa corrected, leaning over him. Her hair brushed through the dark curls upon his naked chest, so light and tickling that, on another night, he might have laughed. "Or have you forgotten your game so quickly?"

She settled against his side, a pale leg rising to lazily lay over his, and he was so close to her sex that he could nearly feel its warmth. He moaned softly as his fingers crept between her thighs and felt the wetness hidden there, and were he a man of better restraint he might have turned her on her back and supped on her until the following morning. 

"A game indeed, for I am a fool to play." Jon said, his breath ragged. "I must be a desperate man, my queen, for I forfeit in this game and all others." 

"Forfeit?" she repeated, her fingers ghosting over the head of his cock. "I thought we were just getting started, my king."

His eyes snapped open as he heard the rustle of fabric and felt a rush of cool air wash over him, seeing that his lady wife had abandoned her shift and was curled beside him bare as he— but far nicer to behold. 

Her teeth bit down gently upon the lobe of his ear, warm and wet and tugging just hard enough to make him groan and he could have smiled then, to realise in his bed lay a wild wolf. 

"Sansa." he whispered, his voice hoarse. He was nearly breathless, feeling that he could burst at the idea of not being touched for even a moment longer. 

Her eyes fluttered closed at the gentleness of his touch, the very same kindness he had promised to her the day they had stood together in the wolfswood so long ago, when he had sworn to the Old Gods and the New that he would protect and love his woman as no man ever had, or would again.

She smiled softly, the words she whispered rushing straight to his cock. "I want you." 

Jon shifted their bodies so that his weight was flat upon her, his hand guiding her head as he lifted it to meet his, their mouths and lips and tongues a tangle of wanting kisses. He nestled within the crook of her parted legs, feeling the warmth and wetness of her maiden's place with mouthwatering desire. 

Their bodies pressed so close together that he could feel every uneven breath she took as he guided himself forward and pushed into her. Sansa gasped sharply at the feel of him within her and her hips arched to meet his, the set of her body delicious torment as it curved against his. She moaned against the shell of her ear, the bath they had shared early in the evening leaving her skin smelling of rosewater and the other perfumes that so often left him nosing at her hair. 

The pleasure of thrusting into her with complete abandon after so long locked in a match of wills was indescribably good. Jon was so lost in a haze of pleasure that he could think of nothing except the sensation of her body, tight and strong and writhing against his, and how deliriously good it all felt. 

Jon felt every muscle in his body suddenly grow tense and coiled, as though ready to spring into action. He let his hips fall into the cradle of hers and rocked against them, moaning long and low; the growl of a wolf. 

Jon held her until they sat chest to chest, her body so tight around his that even before they had fully acclimated to the position, he was sheathed fully within her, so close that he could feel every jerk of her body against his as he circled his hips and moved inside of her. 

He loved to have her this way, with her chest pulled flush against his and her legs wrapped tight around his hips, her body prone and strung taut from the pleasure brought by his touch. He grinned wolfishly, brushing back the red hair he loved so truly, and nosed at the chasm of her breasts, his lips parting to press a kiss to each pale nipple, the pebbled flesh softer against his searching tongue than any silk he had ever beheld.

"You taste so sweet." he uttered, the scratch of his unshorn beard between her breasts making her shiver, although not in discomfort. "My sweet, sweet girl."

Her mouth claimed his, as though trying to convey the driving need that coursed between them without word. It made Jon all the more desperate to sate the ever—growing restlessness and lust constantly coursing between them.

Her hand tightened to a fist in his dark curls, the rhythm they had established growing messy in their desperation. Sansa cried out as he pulled nearly all the way out before thrusting himself back in, but they both knew it was not a cry of pain, and it spurred Jon on to repeat the motion.

Warmth pooled in her belly and Jon could feel the redolent heat of his release approaching and he knew that neither of them would last much longer now. 

Jon lowered his hand, dragging the pads of his fingers across her sweet folds, feeling the bud of skin that he had so often touched to his tongue. She let out a gasp that was loud enough to be heard halfway through the castle, her face sinking into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, the warmth of her breath making gooseflesh rush over his skin.

Sansa moaned against the shell of his ear, trembling with the force of the pleasure that coursed through her as she met her peak. Jon came with a half-strangled, guttural roar that seemed to echo against the stone walls in the Lady's chamber, his senses so thoroughly occupied by her sweet voice, by the feel of her skin, by the way she fluttered against him that in that moment if he were asked, Jon was sure he wouldn't be able to remember his own name. 

They lay together in the bed, curled as close as pups cuddling for warmth. Jon pulled her close enough for Sansa to rest her head upon his chest, fitting just so beneath the arm he laid over her shoulder that she could lay her ear over his heart and hear how it beat for her. 

He could feel the warmth of her naked body, her fingers curled absently through his dark hair, her cheeks burnishing with the afterglow their love making had brought. Jon pulled her close, peppering her face with a set of teasing kisses, the way he nipped gently at her nose and cheeks making her giggle, her toes curling against his. 

"Have I pleased my king?" Sansa asked, her voice teasingly pliant. He could see her eyes beginning to flutter with the fatigue brought by the repeated couplings that had filled their day. 

"Aye, my queen." said Jon, kissing the tip of her nose playfully. He laid the furs around their entangled bodies, glad that the fire in the hearth still burned so that he would not have to detangle himself from her arms and stoke the flames. "In more ways than you could know." 

"Well then." said Sansa. "I suppose you shall not tire of me too soon." 

Even knowing she spoke in jest, the words stung him, and he propped himself up on an elbow to look more closely at her. He lifted a hand and began to kiss her thin fingers one at a time until he reached the ring he had once placed upon her finger, stroking the hammered iron with his thumb. "I will never tire of you, my lady Sansa." Jon said, his gaze dark but firm. "You are all I have ever wanted in this world."

She let her fingers run over the healed scar over his brow. "I love you, Jon." she whispered, her eyes shining with the love conveyed in her words. "My lord, my husband, and my king."

"I love you." he returned. 

She was warm and soft as she nestled closer in his arms when Jon flipped to lay on his back. Jon thought that he could stay like this for as long as he could, forever even, if she would have him. 

"Sleep now, sweet girl." Jon said, turning to lay back upon his back and feeling her curl closer. "For I do not have the energy in me for another round and I think if you look at me that way again, I'll have to throw you down and make love to you again."

Sansa grinned, and opened her eyes to look at him. 


End file.
